


Sanguine

by writerdot



Category: House M.D.
Genre: AU, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sick!Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1226893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerdot/pseuds/writerdot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson has an unfortunate incident with a clinic patient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanguine

“Want to explain to me why I got a text,” House pauses to look angrily at his phone. “saying and I quote ‘Wilson got bitten-clinic-stat.’

Wilson tries not to flinch at the feeling of the antiseptic that sears through his skin of his wrist. “Because someone took a chunk out of my arm and I really needed you to come down here?”

“Was that a question? Because it sounded like one. Also, I didn’t ask you to paraphrase,” House retorts, limping closer to the nurse putting the finishing touches to the bandage and glowering menacingly over her shoulder. “I wanted you to _explain_.”

He turns his attention to the nurse. “Hey, you, get a tetanus shot ready.”

“It hasn’t been ten years,” Wilson mutters needlessly; House won’t listen anyway.

“Yeah, don’t care,” House snaps as the nurse, who is apparently still afraid of him, scurries out of the exam room to do as he asks. House figures she must be new. Most nurses just glare at him and call him a dick under their breath.

“So. Explain.”

Wilson sighs wearily.“There was a kid in the clinic, Adam, who told Jeffrey that he had a cold. I got in there, thinking all he wanted was an excuse to get out of school or something, but the more I talked to him, the more agitated he got. Then, all of a sudden, he demanded blood. I tried to stall him, told him I had to talk to my boss first before I could just hand over bags of O-neg. Apparently, he didn’t like that answer.”

“Apparently.” House peers at him and Wilson recognizes the look on his face as his diagnostic expression. “You’re squinting.”

“Oh.” Wilson tries to open his eyes wider, which just makes the pounding in his head more prevalent. “Chase stitched the head wound, but it aches a little.”

"Wait," House says sharply. “You have a head wound? Where?”

“The patient knocked me back against the door,” Wilson says slowly. “Chase didn‘t tell you?”

“Did I not tell you that the text said-“

Wilson pushes House’s hand down as he thrusts the phone into his face. “No, you don’t need to tell me again, but…”

However, that sentence doesn’t get finished because House is already behind him, fingers sifting through his hair until he finds what he’s looking for. “Any loss of conciousness?”

“Ouch! No.”

“Sorry,” House mutters, seeming to calm down as he sees that Wilson isn’t actually in dire peril. “Looks okay.”

“Of course it does. Chase knows you’d disembowel him if he did it any less than perfect.”

House’s hand drops to his shoulder and squeezes it gently before dropping away. “What happened to the kid?”

“Security caught him. They’re doing pysch and drug tests.”

“I’m going to run tests on your blood, too, since I can tell he drew blood when he bit you.”

“Already had Chase start it,” Wilson answers. “That’s where he is now. The rest of your team is running the multiple tests on the kid as per Foreman.”

House nods slowly and is silent as he leans against the wall in the small room and rolls his cane between his open palms.

“Sorry about the yelling.”

“I should have texted you myself. I'm sorry." He frowns in concern. "You didn’t hurt your leg racing down here did you?”

“Leg’s fine,” House dismisses. He pushes himself off the wall and limps close enough to where Wilson is sitting on the edge of the hospital bed to be invading his personal space.

“If you wanted my attention,” House says softly. “There are easier, more fun, ways to get it.”

“I remember,” Wilson answers as he rests his hands on House’s hips. “I just thought something to spice up our relationship might be in order. I survived cancer. Figured, you know, becoming a vampire might be next on the list.”

“Cancer survivor to bloodsucker.” House nods. “That’s logical.”

Wilson lets out a breathy chuckle as House leans down and kisses him chastely on the mouth.

They both lean against each other for sometime before the sound of House’s obnoxious OW OOOGA text message tone reverberates through the room.

Wilson laughs against House shoulder as House reaches down, opens the phone and reads the text. “Preliminaries show your blood to be clear. We’ll wait for his and, in the mean-time, the pych department should have fun with him. But if you think you might wake up in the middle of the night wanting to suck my blood, warn me now so I can run down to the blood bank to stock up.”

Wilson hops off the bed with an emphatic eye-roll, House and his endless vampire jokes following him out of the clinic.

*****  
House, naturally, doesn’t actually let him leave hospital campus for another hour to make absolutely sure that he doesn’t have a concussion.

“You made me get an MRI!”

House dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “And since those results aren’t back yet-” he gestured to the Eeames chair in the corner of his office. “-have a seat.”

He’d not bothered to argue after that for fear of making the headache worse. It was already aching even more after reciting what happened to the police.

So, a full three hours after he’d been attacked by that kid in the clinic, they’re making their way into the condo.

“You’re dumping your stuff right by the door?” House gasps. “What about your neurotic need to have everything in it’s place at all times?”

“You do it all the time,” Wilson answers as he plops unceremoniously onto the couch.

“Exactly. Where will I put _my_ stuff?”

“Don’t care.”

Wilson knows he will regret that later when he hears the tell-tale sound of House things dropping to the floor, probably right on top of his own, but he’s so tired, he’s already decided to deal with that later.

He props his feet up on the coffee table and closes his eyes, opening them with a start a second later when he feels House’s cane gently poke him in the ankle.

“Hey,” House says. “Let me check the dressing on that wrist.”

Wilson doesn’t even bother reminding him that he’d checked the dressing before they’d left not fifteen minutes ago as he rests it on House’s left knee. He closes his eyes again as House examines him and pronounces it fine.

“Go to bed,” he prompts.

“You going to wake me up in two hours to check and make sure I know the date?”

“You have to ask?”

Wilson breathes a little laugh. “Right.”

He turns to make his way to the bedroom, but stops when he feels House grasp his belt loop. When he turns to face him again, he’s just a little taken aback at the soft look on House’s face.

“You okay?”

House nods slowly, but doesn’t say anything. Wilson leans forward and gently wraps his arms around House’s waist. “How’s your leg? You spent a lot of time on your feet fussing over me.

“I do _not_ fuss.”

At Wilson’s glare, he admits, “It aches. I took a Vicodin about an hour ago. The heating pad is by the couch from a couple of days ago. I’ll use that when you go to bed. So go to sleep, vamp boy. I’ll come check on you in two hours.”

Wilson nods and leans up for a kiss before complying without another word. He doesn’t shut the door as he makes his way into the bedroom; he feels a little better leaving it open knowing that House is just in the other room. He changes his clothes and gets under the covers. He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s not entirely sure why he feels so disoriented. He immediately knows that there’s someone in the room with him, though it doesn’t feel like it’s House’s commanding presence.

When he slowly sits up and sees who’s at the end of the bed, he’s proven right.

“Hey, doc,” the kid smirks at him from his perch on top of the dresser. “Remember me?"

“House!” he tries to yell, but it comes out as a whimper. He’s weak and lethargic as the tries to stand up. It doesn’t work; as soon as his feet touch the floor, he’s sinking down onto it.

“Sorry. He can’t come,” Adam, Wilson recalls without really thinking about it, says, hopping off the dresser and walking toward Wilson’s prone form.

“He’s a little…indisposed,” he continues. “And you don’t have to worry about calling the cops.” He holds up Wilson’s iPhone. “Though I don’t suppose it matters if you do. By the time they get here, I’ll be halfway to the airport.”

Wilson grips the bed with boneless fingers. “What do you want?”

Adam crouches in front of him. “I just wanted to give you the cure to how you’re feeling right now.”

Wilson swallows, decides that maybe he should just cooperate and maybe the kid will leave and…

_Right,_ the voice in his head, that sounds suspiciously like House, retorts _. You’re going to try and cooperate with the kid who’s probably stoned out his mind and looking for drug money. You really think he’s just going to leave?_

He doesn’t see an alternative, especially considering he doesn’t know exactly what Adam did to House. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Okay.”

Adam smiles as though he’s about to give Wilson the treat of his life and reaches down, bringing up a cup from some unseen spot on the floor. “Here.”

He can’t see through the dark plastic, but at the first smell, his heart starts to beat faster and his blood sounds like it’s a waterfall going through his ears. He recognizes this feeling as anticipation and he doesn’t understand _why_.

He grasps the cup and brings it to his lips.

And when he coughs violently and drops the cup, it covers him with blood on its way to the floor.

He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. When he looks up for some explanation, sure that this is a prank this high idiot is playing on him to torture him, but he’s not there. He begins to shake, all over, and he can’t stop it, he doesn’t know what to do. What he wants is House and…

_“Wilson!”_

He wakes with another hard cough, sitting up and feeling a warm hand on his back. His wrist and head are aching something fierce and he rests his forehead against a familiar shoulder.

“What the _hell_ was that?” House asks in his ear.

Wilson breathes and waits to get himself under control, feeling slightly stupid for how scared he feels.

“Bad dream,” he answers a minute later.

“I got that much,” House retorts. “I heard you coughing, so I came in to check on you in time to see you practically silent screaming. What was it about?”

Wilson relays his dream to him and when he’s done, House looks thoughtful. “Want me to call and check to make sure he’s still in a straight jacket?”

“No,” Wilson shakes his head. “I’m not afraid of that. When we left the hospital, he was under lock and key in the psych ward.” He knows he probably sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, to make himself feel better.

This is confirmed when House points out, “They would have called if he’d found a way to escape.”

“Right,” Wilson leans away from House to rest against the headboard. “It was just…a weird day. I was probably due.”

House shrugs in agreement and looks at his watch.  “It’s been an hour and forty-five minutes. Might as well check. What year is it?”

Wilson smiles. “2013.”

“President?”

“Barack Obama.”

“Well, you your brain seems to be at your normal baseline,” House announces, ignoring Wilson’s snort. “I did get you some Lunesta to go with the prevantative antibiotics. Want to try it?”

Wilson agrees and House goes out to the living room, returning a few minutes later with his back pack.

“You know,” he says as he pulls out the paper bag with the meds. “It’s too bad it’s spring. This would have made a great Halloween story.”

“Be sure to tell it this Halloween, then.”

House hands him a pill and the glass of water, looking at him with an expression that Wilson has recognized a few times since that night in House’s apartment when he almost died. It seems like so long ago now and he isn’t sure that House realizes he looks at him like that. If he doesn’t, Wilson’s not going to point it out.

“Remind me,” House demands, still watching as he moves to lay down in his usual spot beside him.

Wilson smiles and washes the pill down. Maybe House knows, after all.

“I will.”

End.


End file.
